


Hide and Seek

by TracingHerWay



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: But mostly porn, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, a bit of angst too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracingHerWay/pseuds/TracingHerWay
Summary: Set between 2x02 and 2x03 at The Boston Globe. Nick/June. Oneshot. PWP.
Relationships: Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:**

> Alright sooo this is the first time I’ve ever written this kind of thing... *deep breath* Family, if you’re reading, please stop now.

Curled up on the couch in the hallway, I feel my eyelids droop as I watch the show on the laptop in front of me, sending me to sleep. I’ve watched this DVD more times than I can count since I’ve been here. The glow of the laptop is the only light, apart from the echo of the moonlight outside: I’m too wary of leaving the lights on in this large office space at night. Nick warned me not to draw attention to the building.

I glance at the clock again. Eleven.

He tends to come on Mondays or Tuesdays, and Fridays. But last week, he didn’t show at all. I haven’t heard anything. Tuesday today.

Whenever the thought comes to me that he could have been caught—that he could be dead right now, hanging from the Wall, and I wouldn’t even know—all I can do is try to swallow the fear back down. It’s too big for me to know what to do with. And there’s nothing I can do. I am helpless.

So I wait, and I hope. I try not to watch the ticking of the second hand on the clock too closely. I try to remind myself that if they had caught him, then they would have come for me too by now.

Although, the truth is, I think that he’d die before giving me away.

The emptiness of the room looms around me, highlighting my smallness in this place; my loneliness. But, as the end credits roll on the screen, just as my eyes begin to close again, my heart leaps in to my throat as I hear the warehouse door grind open distantly downstairs. At once, I am wide awake.

I get up, my heart skipping a beat. I make my way across the floor, past the desks and towards the stairs. Mouth suddenly dry, picking out where I’ll hide if I need to.

I listen out for movement. A door closes and tentative footsteps, just like always. The sounds are right.

_Please. Please._

The call comes. “June?”

Relief floods over me, like a burst of fresh air, welcome in this stale place. My name on his lips has never sounded so good. I dash down the stairs quickly. Nick’s already waiting for me at the bottom. When he sees that it’s me—sees that I’m okay—he relaxes and then smiles, his expression mirroring my own, and I fall into his embrace. His hand comes up to the back of my head, clinging me to him. We breathe each other in, wordless. The familiar scent of him centres me: it’s something I never realise how much I miss until he’s here with me again.

“You okay?” he whispers, that same, concerned way he always does.

I nod in the crook of his neck, then pull back and search his face.

“What happened last week?”

He shakes his head in answer, looking down with regret. “I’m sorry. It was too dangerous. I couldn’t get away.”

“How long can you stay?”

“A few hours, maybe,” he says, a little glint in his eye, tangling his fingers with mine. Allowing himself a small smile.

I smile back, but inside my heart sinks. I don't know what I expected... a little longer after all this time? It’s not enough. It never is. But I’ll take it. He’s here. He’s alive.

“I brought you some clean clothes. And some food, coffee...” He hands me a couple of paper bags that he'd set on the floor and I take them, nodding gratefully, and lead him upstairs, straight away falling back into our usual routine.

“I’ll just put this stuff in the kitchen, okay?” I say as we reach the top, back amongst the office cubicles. “Meet me in the bedroom?” It’s not a real bedroom, of course. But it’s what we call it: the room we sleep in. An old break room, contained and safe, furnished with two large couches. The most comfortable space here.

He nods, cheeks flushing. There’s something in his face I can’t decipher.

As I walk away from him, down the hall, I glance back a few times before I turn the corner, as if confirming to myself that he really is here. Each time, I find him watching me quietly, chest rising, his eyes dark and wanting.

In the kitchen, I pack the things he brought away into the bare fridge and cupboards. Smiling to myself, I imagine that in a minute, we’ll be curled up together on my makeshift bed. Back in our bubble. My worry calmed for a few hours.

I make us some coffee, my mind wandering, impatient, and I carry the mugs quickly but carefully down the hall with me, along in to the “bedroom” and—

The room is empty. He's not there. The light has been turned on, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

I set the coffees down, looking around.

“Nick?!” I call out, a hint of panic rising in my voice. Where is he? Did he hear something? Someone?

Then, a hand grabs my arm and pulls me into darkness. The storage cupboard to the right. The door shuts behind me.

For a fleeting moment, fear creeps in. Someone followed him here. We’ve been caught. A spike of adrenaline tricks me. It’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing. _What’s going on?_

But then, I feel the pair of hands on me and I know it’s him. Of course it’s him. He’s playing a game. Warm fingers brush up my sides, under my shirt, and the fear switches into something else, my heart pounding out of my chest.

He presses me into the back of the door as his mouth claims mine hungrily. I respond, taken aback for a second by this unprompted display of dominance, but secretly loving it. He is using the darkness; it gives him more confidence.

He pulls away and trails more kisses along my jaw. Tracing a line along the tendon of my neck, his teeth graze the skin there and cause my skin to prick.

“Is this okay?” he whispers softly in my ear. Tone playful, but still checking in. I wonder how many days he’s been imagining doing this.

I can barely nod, my senses are so overwhelmed. “Yes,” I reply. I grab for his shirt and cling to it, my hands finding their way eagerly as I rake it up his back and over and off his head. He mirrors my movements, pulling my top off, exposing my bare chest, and grabbing my ass over the boxers I'm wearing. He rocks his hips in to me instinctively and, as he does, pushes his whole body against me, bringing in to contrast the hard coldness of the door on my back with the warmth of his chest pressing in to mine. I gasp.

“I missed you...” he breathes.

It’s been too long. A week and a half since his last visit. Too long, when I know what it is I’m missing. How I could be spending my time here; like it was a few weeks ago, when I first arrived. After we fought. The memory only heightens my arousal.

After one more long, sensual kiss he pulls away and I hate it, but I hear the clink of his belt buckle as he undoes his trousers; the ruffling of fabric as he shuffles them down and off his legs. For a few seconds all I can hear is him and me breathing, inches apart. His pants become slower, longer, as he reigns himself in, managing to control himself. The familiar scent of aftershave mingled with tobacco that I recognised earlier now feels everywhere around me, in the dark. I never used to like the smell, but now it takes me back to every kiss, every time he’s ever held me in his arms. Pressed up against a wall; or nestled safely in his bed.

He stops hovering and returns to me, cupping a warm hand to my breast and running his thumb over it slowly. He brings his mouth—his hot, wet mouth—down to it, wrenching an involuntary whimper from me, the heat between my legs growing by the second as he flicks and circles softly with his tongue.

Suddenly, I’m not sure if this is paradise or torture. I need him. I miss him so much. And he’s right here.

“ _Nick_ …”

My call of his name brings him out of it and his lips find their way back to mine, more breathless now, but still controlled. His hands come up to my face, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me in to his kiss. I can’t see him but I know the wildness in his face is there right now; I’ve seen it before, that primal side of him. That quiet, building lust set free.

I reach for his hips in an attempt to pull him to me, but he takes my wrists and pins them gently up against the door either side of my head. I feel him smile against my lips and shake his head. _No. Not yet_ , he’s telling me silently. I get the message. I’ll allow it. He takes his hands away and strokes them lightly down my sides, sending a shiver through me and I arch into his touch, wanting him desperately. At that, he presses into me again, and I feel him—all of him—against me.

More sighs and moans escape me as he works softly away at every inch of my neck, hands all the while finding their way over the curves and divots of my body in a maddening tease.

Driving me crazy, because he won’t touch me where I want him to.

And he knows it.

“ _Please…_ ” I beg.

With that, as if he was waiting for it, I feel him smile again and he kisses my cheek once more, and then I sense him sinking down to his knees, curling his fingers around my boxers—his, actually—and tugging them slowly down, kissing my hips and thighs as he does. I shake them off quickly, my body tingling with anticipation, because I know from this what’s coming. He hovers over my centre. I feel his hot breath on me, hear it hitch as he swallows, leaving me waiting… and then his mouth is finally on me. And it’s perfect. I gasp, one hand bracing my arm straight on a shelf next to us and the other finding the soft curls on his head, pulling a little, but not too much. (Maybe a little too much.) He is silent as he works on me carefully with his tongue, but I feel his enthusiasm in every movement he makes, and I praise whatever god there is that made him this attentive and this _good_. He pulls one leg up on to his shoulder and I rest it there, as he strokes and licks and draws sounds from me I didn’t know I could make.

But when he slowly slips a finger inside and starts thrusting up; up; up, slowly at first, then another, and gradually faster, and faster…. all the while still kissing me _there_ …. that is when I lose all sense of control. It feels too good. My mind goes quiet, focusing on the sensations. A blissful blackness floods my brain as I feel myself tensing. I squeeze my legs so tight that I start to tremble. He grips the skin above my hip with his free hand a little tighter, letting me know that he's there—he's got me. When I come, shaking, around his fingers, as they slide, still, in and out, with the waves passing over me, I hear him sigh “ _June_ ” against my skin.

And he trips. Overcome, he doesn’t give me a chance to come down before he stands up and pulls my legs around his waist. A hand finds my jaw, caressing my cheek as he kisses me again. I grab his cock, so hard for me, bringing it between us and before I have time to think, he thrusts up, hand cupping my ass tight as he sinks inside in one slick movement, and I cry out again as he groans, broken, into my open mouth. The friction is heaven. It feels like coming home. However good he can make me feel with his touch and his kisses, there’s nothing like this feeling. The wholeness in these moments, when we are reunited.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he starts to move, burying his face in my neck as he does. He’s not loud, but his breathing is sharp and heavy, ragged, and the sounds he does make tell me everything I need to know. I try and pull him closer, needing all of him, as much as I can get. I want to drown in him.

His thrusts are exaggerated by the loud pounding of the door against its frame as he hammers into it; into me.

“You like that?” he grinds out, under his breath.

“ _Uh-huh_ ” is all I can manage, before I feel his hand reaching for the cupboard handle. In a fumble, he opens the door and light seeps back in, but I’m so full of him I barely notice. Nick walks us quickly over to the couch, my legs still wrapped around him, and sinks us down on to it.

He fucks me hard there, hips rolling into mine. Hard but slow. Impossibly deep, the pressure so good that it almost hurts. Our mouths tangle together, exploring desperately. He kisses me like I’m his oxygen, like he hasn’t had air since the last time he was here. I feel drunk. Drunk on him. High on this escape.

“June,” he says breathlessly between kisses.

I hear him, but I don’t respond. I can’t.

He pulls up, and rests back on his heels, kneeling, and I am outraged at the loss of him above me.

“Don’t stop!” I gasp.

“June. Look at me.”

I don’t. I’m too lost in it. I can’t.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, in a haze, I open my eyes. The fire in his expression is more than I can handle. He takes me in, jaw jutting forward as he exhales. When our eyes lock, he bites his lip, brings his hand between us and starts circling his thumb over my clit lightly, still inside me as he does. A spark jolts through me and I tense, squeezing my eyes shut again, my mouth falling open.

I know what he wants. He wants me to feel good. He wants me to come again, before this is over.

My body responds to him quickly, overwhelmed by the attention. When he feels me tightening around him, getting closer, he starts rocking his hips again, slowly, massaging me and bringing me to the edge. Exercising a level of self-control that I certainly don’t have right now. The only hint of restraint is his breathing: heavy, thick, growing louder and weightier with every stroke. Part of me tries to fight it—I don’t want the sensation to end—but he’s too good. I feel pressure and fullness in all the right places, my hips bucking up to meet his. When I let go, he finally does too, and he comes back down over me, pounding in to me, extending my orgasm as he finds his own. His high-pitched sighs building and peaking, he breaks into a stifled gasp as he curls his head down into my neck. I reach my hand up to stroke his face as I try to catch my own breath.

I can’t speak. I can only laugh breathlessly, overwhelmed, as my body slowly relaxes again, holding him close.

After a minute, Nick smiles coyly, tenderly down at me and brushes my hair gently from my face, the heat of the moment passed now, and replaced by something else. Something neither of us dare give a name to.

He plants kisses over my face and chest and I laugh again, tickled by them. Encouraged, he continues happily, along my shoulders, down an arm and across my stomach.

Then his kisses linger in one spot and he pauses, hovering over my belly, and I know why. I’m starting to show, this week more than ever. He didn’t see before, in the dark, or after; so caught up in the moment. Even from this angle, I catch him frown sadly and blink. He presses his forehead into me, above where the new swell of it is, the same way he had done after I told him I was pregnant. I stroke his hair and he cradles me like I—like _we_ —are the most precious thing in the world, and lets out a heavy sigh.

I know it’s crazy, to want to stay here, just to be with him, stealing hidden moments in the dark. But part of me does, though I would never admit it out loud. This limbo means I don’t have to choose.

But I know that we can never be free in this place. And getting me and our baby out means that I will have to go, eventually. Somewhere that he—and Hannah, and Moira, out there somewhere—can’t follow, with only the hope that, one day, we will find each other again.

I blink back the tears that start to prick at the corners of my eyes.

_Don’t let this end. Please, don’t take him from me. I can’t lose him too._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are much appreciated!


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